She opened her eyes at the sound of her name and wished, not for the first time that morning, that she was anywhere else then that elevator, in that apartment building.
“Hey Mr James,” she said, doing her best to smile at the elderly teacher standing between the elevator doors. “Whatcha doin’ here?”
“I live here Felicity.” He continued to stand there, taking in the crumpled dress, smeared mascara and stilettos swinging from her left hand.
“Of course you do,” muttered Felicity, shifting uncomfortably and hearing the heels bang into the wall behind her. “Could you, um, press the button?”